


The Bulldog

by Thorinsmut



Series: The Shadowwalker and The Bulldog [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Heartbreak, Introspection, M/M, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love, Unwanted Feelings, morose violin playing, there are no happies here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the <i>Shadowwalker's</i> favorite threat that had purred, soft and dangerous, from Nori's throat.<br/><i>“Touch me without permission again, and I'll personally scatter your body across this mountain in a hundred pieces.”</i><br/>Dwalin believed it.<br/>He didn't want to believe it – <i>Mahal please</i>, he didn't want to – but he did.<br/>Nori was a completely different Dwarf from the one Dwalin had grown to know on the quest...<br/>...the Dwarf he'd thought he loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bulldog

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy story.

_"Touch me without permission again, and I'll personally scatter your body across this mountain in a hundred pieces.”_

Crime thrived in Erebor, and Dwalin _knew._

_“I'll personally scatter your body across this mountain in a hundred pieces.”_

The words echoed over and over in his mind and he _knew._

It was the _Shadowwalker's_ favorite threat that had purred, soft and dangerous, from Nori's throat. There had been no hesitation with his knives, there had been no doubt in his eyes. He'd been a Dwarf used to giving orders and backing them up with violence. He was a completely different Dwarf from the one Dwalin had grown to know on the quest...

...from the one he'd thought he loved.

There was no _proof –_ and he'd _searched_ for it, once he knew – but there was not a shred of proof that Nori was or had ever _been_ anything but the traveling trader he said he was.

Dwalin was left grasping at shadows that melted beneath his fingers and searching for proof that _did not exist_.

Without any proof, he couldn't arrest Nori. Crime thrived in Erebor and he wanted to stop it, wanted to take the Shadowwalker out of the way, wanted to arrest Nori and extract a confession from him... but he couldn't. Who would believe him, with only his word against Nori's and no _proof?_ A jealous ex-lover making wild accusations after an affair gone bad – he'd not believe it himself if someone else brought it to him. He could not imagine that the Dwarf capable of fooling him, and Thorin's entire Company, and his own _brothers_ , would confess in a simple interrogation. It would be Dwalin's own reputation that would fail if he tried it.

...if he even _managed_ to arrest Nori. He'd been _so fast_ with those knives...

_“Touch me without permission again, and I'll personally scatter your body across this mountain in a hundred pieces.”_

Dwalin believed it.

He didn't _want_ to believe it – _Mahal please_ , he didn't want to – but he did.

In crime-ridden Ered Luin they'd dared to dream of an Erebor that was bright and clean and _safe_ , the way they'd remembered it – and they'd brought their enemy with them, in the heart of the Company. Crime flourished in Erebor even more than it had in Ered Luin, no matter how strenuous their efforts to stamp it out. Nori had fooled them all, and none of them would ever have known if the contagion of Thorin's gold sickness hadn't stripped _Nori_ away and left only the Shadowwalker.

They'd dared to dream that Dwalin would serve at the right hand of King Thorin in Erebor, but that hadn't happened either. Dain was not a bad King, and better for having Balin and Dis – hollow from grief but no less sharp for it – at his side, but he was not and would never be _Thorin_.

Sometimes, when the sorrow of it all was heavy, he wished he _didn't_ know about Nori.

Oh, he was no romantic, and he was no longer a naive lad of sixty, sure he'd die like a damn _Elf_ the first time he broke his heart – but sometimes in the quiet of the night he wished he'd never gotten the fool idea to take up where Dori had interrupted them in Laketown. He'd been _so sure_ he was close to convincing Nori to switch... and if not he still liked to be fucked. He wished he'd never sought Nori out in his gold sickness, never had to have met the Shadowwalker face to face. He wondered if Nori might have _stayed_ if Dwalin hadn't made him reveal himself – or might have continued their relationship whenever the wind brought him through.

He could hate himself for how much he wanted that sometimes, and the only thing for it on those nights was to take out the violin and play away the sting of it.

Balin, who knew him better than anyone alive, had tried to talk to him of Nori only once. He could not help hearing the violin at night, of course, and he knew what it meant. His tone was gentle as he tried to suggest that he would not stand in the way if Dwalin wanted to pursue the trader - as if Dwalin had ever thought he _would_ \- and mentioned how happy Dori and little Ori would be if Dwalin could convince Nori to stay.

“He scratched an itch, there was never anything more.” Dwalin ended the conversation sharply, and Balin let him keep the lie he wished were true.

What kind of a Dwarf _wants_ to be the Shadowwalker's lover?

...but Dwalin _didn't_ , really. He didn't want the Shadowwalker anywhere but locked in the deepest dungeon Erebor could produce.

Dwalin wanted _Nori._

He wanted the Dwarf he could stay up late talking to and never run out of things to discuss. He wanted the Dwarf he could count on to fight beside him. He wanted the Dwarf who's eyes got soft when Ori got excited about something. He wanted the Dwarf who'd been an enthusiastic, considerate, and _appreciative_ lover.

Dwalin wanted the Dwarf who'd made him fall in love – and he didn't know if that Dwarf was even _real_. Nori was probably just a mask the Shadowwalker had worn, but he'd _seemed_ real. He'd seemed so real.

Dwalin didn't want to know why he'd done it. Had it been a joke, so the Shadowwalker could laugh about having fucked 'the bulldog'?

He hated that nickname, hated it _so much._ Only criminals regularly called him that anymore. There was no reason Nori should have known it.

The _Shadowwalker_ , on the other hand, had every reason to know it.

No matter how much Dwalin wanted not to believe it – he did. Nori had seemed so real, but so had the Dwarf who pinned him to a wall with knives and purred a horrifyingly believable threat. So had the Dwarf who scaled Azog's back by stabbing three knives into it for handholds and expertly slit the Orc's throat with a fourth – laughing wildly, blood spattered, as he rode the corpse to the ground – but not soon enough to save Thorin and the princes.

In the misery after the Battle he'd wanted _not_ to believe it strongly enough that he'd searched Nori out.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he gave Nori an opening to talk about what he'd said and done in his gold sickness. Had he hoped for an apology with some sort of an _explanation_ that would make it clear Nori was not the Shadowwalker? Had he wanted a pretty lie; permission to touch him again; a tearful confession and renouncement of all his crimes?

No.

Dwalin was as likely become a criminal as the Shadowwalker was to go honest.

Nori had said _nothing_ in his own defense, and that screamed as loudly as a confession of guilt. He'd not even _looked_ at Dwalin, shown no sign that he'd ever cared about him at all, and Dwalin had not approached him again.

Crime flourished in Erebor no matter how they tried to stamp it out, always faster and quieter and a few steps ahead of them – everyone knew the Shadowwalker was the mind behind it, whoever he was.

Dwalin _knew_ , but he had no _proof_ other than his word and that would never be enough.

_“This isn't a fight you can win, Bulldog.”_

The Shadowwalker had been right, damn him. There was no way Dwalin could win this one, not when he was fighting against himself and against a Dwarf who could build a lie of himself that even his brothers believed.

But a losing fight was not a reason stop fighting. Dwalin had followed Thror to Moria, and he'd followed Thorin to Erebor. He would never stop hunting the Shadowwalker, searching for the proof Nori was far to careful to leave behind.

If he ever found it, he would _not_ hesitate to use it. He'd seen too many locks broken, too many treasures stolen... too many corpses carved into a hundred pieces and scattered.

He would never stop hunting the Shadowwalker, no matter _what_ he felt about Nori... and when the pain of _that_ grew too sharp there was always the violin, crying out into the silence of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I gave myself a sad.


End file.
